


omigod, you guys!

by khalasaar



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, F/M, MUSICAL NOT MOVIE, THIS IS A LEGALLY BLONDE AU, UR GONNA LOVE IT BIH
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-11-19 15:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11315952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khalasaar/pseuds/khalasaar
Summary: “You go where?”“Harvard,” Veronica chirps. “Law school.”“You got into Harvard.”“What?” she asks innocently. “Like it’s hard?”***legally blonde: the musical, beronica edition<3





	1. harvard variations

“Harvard Law, baby!” Veronica squeals, voice shrill with excitement. Her body bubbles with barely suppressed pep, making her aware of all the electricity in her fingers, the way her feet hit the ground as she walks, the magic of being here, finally. She checks her watch but barely registers the time. “Okay, okay, I’m really gonna go. The orientation is, I think, right up here. I’m gonna go say. Grab the social calendar.” Her and Josie’s laughs echo through the phone at the same time. “I’ll talk to you later. Buh bye.”

“Love you,” Josie shouts, and then the line goes quiet.

Harvard fucking Law-School. Veronica shoves her phone into her brightly patterned bag and inhales deeply, unable to stop smiling as she skips toward the orientation booth at the other end of the field. It’s a bright, clear day in mid-September, and Veronica is thrilled by how the world feels around her - everything a vivid green, a slow breeze winding its lazy way across campus, fat white clouds lining a fervently blue sky. Harvard’s brick buildings rise up all around her. New year. New people. (Except for Archie, and that’s the whole reason she’s here.) It took a whole lot of work for Veronica to get where she is, and she can’t help but revel for a moment in the fruits of her labor, hundreds of hours of studying, and working, and missing parties, and telling her mom she wouldn’t suddenly become “boring” and “crazy” if she went off to law school instead of pursuing a film career. It feels good. It feels worth it, missing out on so much of her senior year. It’s… satisfying. Like a puzzle piece just snapped into place.

Maybe a hundred students are milling around the orientation booth. Veronica, overdressed in a bright pink dress and tall black heels that were supposed to inspire confidence, attempts to squash the apprehension that rises at seeing so many different people. She should’ve expected it. Harvard Law School. As if girls here are gonna dress like her sisters from Delta Nu. As if the boys are still gonna be in board shorts. It doesn’t really matter, she knows that, but it still makes her feel out of place. Veronica allows herself a pause, then plasters on the brightest smile she can manage, slings her bag higher over her shoulder, and walks right up to the orientation booth.

“Hi!” A freckly girl with short, curly hair and a tall, buff-looking dude with dark eyes, their name tags reading Ethel and Reggie respectively, look up at her. The girl smiles; the dude gives her a respectful head nod. They’re both in the middle of rifling through identical manila folders, which must be information about their classes. “I’m Veronica, nice to meet you.”

“Hi, I’m Ethel,” the girl says, extending a hand. She has a funny half-smile - pretty, but shy. Veronica can practically smell her anxiety. “Are you in criminal law?”

Veronica beams. “Uh huh, criminal law 101, with Clayton.”

“Me too. Are you nervous? I heard some stories about him.”

“Like what?”

“Like, that he’s tough as hell. And scary. And that he really lives up to the C-minus Clayton thing,” Ethel grimaces.

“Have you heard about him bathing in the blood of sheep?” A blonde girl is sitting on a stool to their right, one foot pulled up to rest on the rungs, a clipboard held tightly to her chest. Her hair is drawn back in a slick ponytail, and she has huge, clear blue eyes; her lips are pressed together slightly, her eyelashes batting as she watches Veronica, and there’s the metallic flash of two small piercings in her right ear.

Is that the gay ear? It’s hard to remember.

“Nope,” Veronica says. She bites out a smile. “Missed that one.”

“It’s not true, anyway,” the girl laughs. She tilts her head and half-smiles at Veronica, that flash of perfect white teeth blindingly genuine - her ponytail swings, and she twists it around her finger as she talks. “I mean, partially. I don’t think the blood is from sheep.”

“As long as it’s not human,” says Veronica.

The girl sits up taller. Up close, she smells like anise and vanilla, and her hairband matches the color of her hair exactly. “I’m Betty.” She throws out a hand to shake, and Veronica notices her nails are painted a soft, innocent blue, that her hand is warm, and she has a good grip, and God, what the hell! “Class of ‘sixteen, represent. I’m Clayton’s law teaching assistant. So you’ll see me in class.”

“Awesome,” Veronica manages, if barely.

“We were introducing ourselves when you walked in,” Betty says, still twirling that ponytail, still smiling that strangely serene smile. “Ethel has a PhD from Berkeley in women’s studies, with an emphasis in, um - history of combat. And Reggie is a student athlete and he just graduated from Princeton, and he’s telling us that he’s worked for Peyton Manning but also Stephen Hawking. So - that’s killer.” She leans back on her stool, drops both feet to the ground. Wisps of blond hair are laying against her cheek. “Do you wanna say something about yourself?”

“Sure. Um, okay.” Veronica laughs. “Well, I’m a Gemini with a double Capricorn moon, and I have a bachelor’s degree in fashion merchandising from NYU. I was president of my sorority, Delta Nu, and last year I was homecoming queen, and last week I was able to talk Gina Rodriguez out of this truly horrifying romper.” She snorts. “Whoever said orange is the new pink is seriously disturbed.”

There’s a long pause. “Wow,” Betty says. “Alright.”

“Anyway,” Veronica chirps, shifting her bag again. Her thoughts have already turned past the awkward moment and back to Archie. “I’m gonna head to class, where is it?”

“Hauser, right over there,” Betty points. “But I’m supposed to give you your class schedule, and a map, and then the Criminal Law 101 book list. What’s your full name?”

“Lodge, comma Veronica.”

Betty looks at her for a second, hard, then bites her lip. Veronica squints back. Another half-second of eye contact passes, where Veronica can feel her chest constrict and her head go light - but then Betty glances away, rifles through the container of files at her right, and pulls out a folder with Veronica’s name stamped across the front. “Tada.”

“Is the social calendar there too?”

Betty’s eyebrows shoot upward. “The what?”

“Never mind,” Veronica says quickly. “Hauser.”

Betty smiles, baffled, and nods. “Down that street, third building on your right.”

“Thank you!” Veronica, overwhelmed by excitement, gives Betty’s hand a sharp squeeze. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll totally see you in, like, ten minutes. Awesome. Thank you! Bye - “ And, ignoring the bewildered look on Betty’s face, Veronica takes off toward Hauser. She can feel the rest of the students dissolving into conversation as she leaves, but forces herself to ignore it. She even drains thoughts of Betty’s blue eyes from her head and forces herself to focus. Criminal Law 101 - Hauser. Professor Clayton.

And Archie. Archibald Andrews. Dumb, stupid, beautiful asshole.

Veronica shakes her head. She’s here for one reason - to talk to Archie - and as soon as she figures this out, why they broke up, what’s going to happen, and what’s really wrong with him - she can go back to NYU, to her life, to the Pussycats, her apartment with the rooftop pool and wall of succulents. She’ll take Archie with her. They’ll get back together, be the power couple they always have been, and Veronica will get to take agency of her life. The idea of it sends a satisfactory hum through her body. She even smiles to herself, exhilarated. First day of law school. Just, like, a billion more left, and, following that, victory.

Enveloped in her own thoughts, Veronica slams right into someone twice her size. Pain reverberates through her forehead where she’s barreled into a bicep, but she manages to open her mouth to apologize, then looks up, stops short, and exclaims: “Oh my God, Archie?! I totally forgot you go here!”

_“Veronica?”_

Veronica just nods. Her heart is pitter-pattering in her chest, and she can feel heat building in her cheek, but she meets Archie’s eyes with a straight gaze, and beams at him, confident, fluorescent. He looks just the same as the last time they were together, though that was blurry through tears. His deep-red hair is tousled from the wind, and his whole face is contorted with emotion, dark eyes huge with surprise, eyebrows shot up into his forehead, but still with that spattering of freckles, a shadow of stubble, the dent between his eyebrows. Affection blazes through Veronica’s head.

“I’m sorry,” Archie manages, barely choking out the words, “are you here to see me?”

“No, silly. I go here.”

“You go where?”

“Harvard,” Veronica chirps. “Law school.”

“ _You_ got into Harvard.”

“What?” she asks innocently. “Like it’s hard?”

Archie is staring at her like she’s grown an extra head. Veronica, who has always been comfortable under scrutiny, stares back with a coquettish tilt of her head and a brilliant, comfortable smile, unsurprised that Archie has, once again, underestimated her. Poor boy. He’s going to regret that when it catches up with him. Brushing a strand of hair away from her face, Veronica prods, “Ready to be a lawyer?”

“Vee,” Archie says finally, almost laughing. “This is crazy. Are you seriously going here? Why the hell would you transfer?”

“Cause I want to go somewhere,” Veronica reminds him. “Be something. You know. Listen, Archie, I’m serious. I can be a serious person.”

“Really.”

“I’m serious about business. About fashion merchandising. I was serious about you. For a long time. About the things I love.”

“That’s not what I meant."

“I know you think I’m just some dumb - “

“You’re not dumb, Vee, you just have a different - “

“Listen,” interrupts Veronica. Her chest is staring to hurt. She gestures at the line of people beginning to filter into Hauser. “Class is about to start. I’ll talk to you later. Okay? We’ll catch up. I need to take notes. Bye, Archie.” And, inhaling deeply, she flashes a smile, brushes past him, and sidles full-tilt into their classroom.

 _God, what the fuck_! Two years together and he stills thinks of her as some dumb, preppy New Yorker with nary a brain cell under that perfect hair. It’s hard to tell if she’s more angry or turned on or in love or plain old sad. Either way, it hurts. Her hands are on fire. She’s gritting her teeth as she steps into the classroom, distracted, upset, and realizes blankly that half the seats are taken. The only good one left is in the front-most row, next to Betty. Veronica takes it.

There are still five or six minutes until class technically starts. Veronica’s expecting Betty to start up a conversation, to flash that preppy smile of hers, or deliver a quip about “C-minus Clayton”, but she doesn’t, instead scribbling with a vicious intensity on her clipboard. Veronica tries not to be offended. Instead, she pulls out her notebook and favorite pen and waits for Clayton to show up with her foot tapping excitedly.

Students continue to filter through the door. Ethel, Reggie, tons that she don’t recognize, then Archie, and, ten seconds behind him, a tall, beautiful girl with incredibly long red hair that catches sight of the back of his head, beams, and trills loudly, “Archiekins!”

Veronica chokes. Betty looks over, alarmed, and Veronica would say something to her, explain, but she’s too nauseous at the sight of the redhead winding her way around Archie like a damn snake, like a puppy desperate to be petted, like a… a… _fuck_! Veronica can’t even keep her head on straight anymore.

They sit down. Together. The same shade of red hair, coalescing. _Archiekins_. The girl meets Veronica’s eyes and smiles, and it’s a shark tooth smile, one that Veronica could maybe respect in a different situation,but knows she’ll probably end up hating.

The classroom door bangs open, and Professor Clayton steps in, and in her head Veronica is saying _fuck you_ to the girl who just won’t stop staring, won’t stop smiling, but she just nods when Betty asks if she’s okay, and smiles back.

Law school is going to be a bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sapphicriley.tumblr.com 
> 
> comments and kudos and asks always appreciated <3


	2. blood in the water

_So that’s C-minus Clayton._ Not what Veronica expected, at all, but then again she hasn’t done a whole lot of homework. The room goes quiet as he slams the door shut behind him, and Veronica looks up from her notepad only to be completely floored by her surprise at seeing the tall, dark, antithesis of every ugly professor she’s ever had - and he can’t even be that much older than his students. She’s stunned. Until he opens his mouth. 

“Now when you choose a law career - “ Ugh, that damn law career! Veronica’s starting to think she won’t have _time_ to do anything else. “The moment you embark, there’s a joke you’re bound to hear: a lawyer is a shark.”

“Ignore that,” Clayton finishes smoothly. He takes a seat on his desk. Somehow it’s intimidating, legs slanted in an image of casualty, his perfectly pressed suit only wrinkled in the tiniest of places. He has dark, dark eyes and they’re roaming around the room nonstop. “It’s simplistic, and it’s dumb.” His teeth are incredibly bright. “Only some of you will turn out sharks. The rest are chum.”

Veronica can’t decide if she’s interested or not. His voice is like velvet and he’s _hot_ for a teacher, but she couldn’t give less of a shit about law school with Archie and his knock-off Mary Jane Watson sitting ten feet away from her. Not with Betty, absorbed in the lecture and still smelling like a sugar cookie, sitting so close to her. Veronica inhales deeply and tries to focus, but her head just gets fuzzier. “‘The law is reason free from passion.’ Who spoke these immortal words?”

“Aristotle,” someone pipes up.

Clayton turns on them immediately. It’s not someone Veronica’s met - a scrawny brunette sitting in the back row, dressed in all gray and black, looking scared out of her damn mind as Clayton walks up to her, almost predatory. “Are you sure?”

“Well-“

“Are you willing to stake your life on it?”

Human sacrifice was not in the course description.

“I’m - uh, sure.”

“Are you willing to stake his life on it?” Callahan asks, pointing at the boy next to her. 

The girl shifts uncomfortably. She can barely meet Clayton’s hot, dark-eyed stare. “I don’t know.”

“You need to know,” Clayton snaps. His voice is vibrating with passion. He’s expanding into a second body, strides extending, hands gesturing wildly as he speaks. “You can’t guess. The law leaves no room for self-doubt. And you were right.”

“Right?”

“It was Aristotle,” Clayton says coldly. The poor girl is so relieved it’s hard to look at. Veronica grinds her teeth. She doesn’t care much for bullies, and the way Clayton gets off on scaring his students doesn’t bode well for her still-forming opinion of him. She can hope it’s a first day thing, a fluke. But that seems like a pipe dream. 

Betty stretches out next to her, and Veronica is wholly aware of their legs brushing for one long, hot half-second. She turns and whispers to the blonde - “Is he always like that?”

“Like what?” Betty’s eyes are beautifully yellowish up close behind the blue. 

“Like…” Veronica struggles for the word. “Educationally sadistic?”

Betty bites her lip to hide a smile. “I mean, I wouldn’t -“

“Miss Cooper.” A hard voice echoes out above them: Clayton is standing no more than two feet away. His arms are crossed on top of that perfect suit, his gaze flat and almost demeaning. Veronica can smell the astringent cloud of his cologne from her. “Fraternizing with students on the first day? I’m disappointed.”

“I’m sorry,” Betty says, cheeks flaming, “I didn’t mean to -“

“It was my fault,” Veronica interrupts. She beams at Clayton as hard as she can, tries to flash all her teeth at once. “Won’t happen again.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Veronica. Lodge.”

“Miss Lodge, the pre-assigned reading for this class was focused on the idea of subject matter jurisdiction. Can you tell us about the case of Gordon vs. Steele?”

Veronica stares. He can’t be serious - pre-assigned reading for the first day of class? She’s barely gotten through their syllabus, much less a chapter of information on what sounds like a boring argument between two old men. “Um,” she laughs nervously, _ha-ha-ha,_ “Well, I wasn’t aware we had an assignment. I mean, who gives out reading for the first day of class?”

She’s expecting the class to laugh along with her, to respond to the humor bubbling in her voice, the grin she’s still flashing Clayton - after all, this is crazy - but they don’t. The room is silent. Betty has gone entirely still; Archie and his pet are staring, along with everyone else.

“Miss Blossom,” Clayton says, turning.

And, of course, just of _course_ , the redhead at Archie’s side straightens up. “Yes?”

“Let’s say you teach a class at Harvard Law school,” Clayton starts. Veronica’s stomach clenches. “A position that you’re justly proud about. But a student on whom you call hasn’t done her reading - should you let it go, or - “

“No,” Blossom smiles. “I’d throw her out.”

Veronica’s heart rushes to her feet, and the empty spot there is replaced by a sick rage. Blossom is looking at her with an impertinent humor, her eyes narrowed in mockery, absolutely poised, and it makes Veronica want to scream. Her hands clench at her sides and she can feel her body locking up, but she says nothing, forces herself to hold the attitude, even as Clayton looks at her, his eyes full of a truly disgusting disappointment, and then at Betty, saying with derision: “Miss Cooper.”

“Yeah,” Betty says. “On it.” Without another word, without even looking away from Clayton, she reaches out, grabs Veronica’s wrist, and pulls. A moment later, they’re stumbling out the door.

*

“So much for making a good impression,” Veronica snaps as they emerge into the courtyard, getting hit with a blast of cool air that does nothing for the heat in her stomach. Her skin is practically boiling, and she knows her cheeks must be bright red. What a fucking mess! Betty still has a hand on her wrist and doesn’t meet her eyes until they come to a stop a good ten feet from the door.

“Sorry,” Betty says, pained. “I should’ve warned you.”

Veronica narrows her eyes and searches Betty’s face. It wasn’t her fault - Veronica should’ve just done the damn reading, even if it _is_ ridiculous - but Betty is looking at her with an inhuman anxiety, her whole body an expression of apology, still worrying her bottom lip between her teeth like she’s been doing all day. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Biting your lip,” Veronica says. Betty raises her eyebrows, and Veronica finally realizes how gay that sounds, the fact that she’s noticing so much about Betty’s mouth, but she can’t find a way to cover it up, so she continues quickly, “And apologizing. It’s not your fault.”

Betty looks like she’s about to say something but stops. Her eyes search Veronica’s for a long half second. She pauses, then says defensively, “Well, I’m still sorry.”

Veronica just shakes her head. “Does he do that a lot?”

“Sometimes,” says Betty. “Not often. You just got unlucky.” 

“Story of my life,” Veronica mutters. There’s a bench near them that she plops down onto with a hard thump, and Betty, after a moment of hesitation, follows. Veronica is hyperaware of how close together they’re sitting. She can see the freckle on Betty’s jaw when she breathes in deep, turns. and asks, “Do you know who that girl was?”

“The one that called you out?” Betty frowns. “Blossom? Um… Cheryl, I think. She was kind of, um, abrupt. When I saw her at orientation.”

“Sounds like her. God,” Veronica spits, incensed, “What a bitch move! Is everyone here a backstabber?”

“There are some good eggs,” Betty defends. “And, I don’t know, she probably just wanted to look good on the first day.”

“By making me look bad?”

“Yeah,” Betty says simply. And Veronica huffs, but it’s simple, and true, when she says it like that - not everyone can be as ethically sound as Veronica Lodge.

Hauser’s door slams open. Betty jumps so hard her ponytail shivers, Veronica stands up immediately, and they’re both frozen, trying to look collected, as students begin to stream out. Archie and his devil sidekick are among the first to appear, engrossed in a quiet conversation, which Veronica promptly interrupts by asking, “Excuse me, but why would you do that to another girl?”

The redhead turns. Her eyes are a supernaturally dark, woody brown, her lips painted a bright blue-toned red, everything about her stance confident and put together with nary a hair out of place. She tilts her head at Veronica: “Do what?” And the suggestion is so innocent, so concrete, that Veronica almost lets it go.

But then of course she doesn’t. “We girls have to stick together,” Veronica insists. “We can’t make ourselves look good by making each other look bad.”

“I didn’t make you look bad,” Blossom retorts coldly. Those wooden eyes are starting to look like a coffin. “You just weren’t prepared. Try opening a law book sometime. But, I should warn you.” She bares her teeth. “They don’t come with pictures.”

“I’ll give you a moment,” Betty mumbles.

“Aren’t there girls going wild somewhere without you?” Cheryl snickers.

Veronica is just stunned enough to lose the stinging reply she had perfectly prepared. Cheryl is serious about this. About absolutely fucking wrecking Veronica on her first day. About exacting revenge in the way of someone venomous and well-adjusted. She almost chokes, looking at the smirk on Cheryl’s face, and she’s struggling to find something to say when Archie finally steps in. “V, listen,” he starts, “I’m really sorry - “

“Oh, sorry for what?” Veronica asks, knowing there are at least a hundred different things he could, or should, be apologizing for.

“Archie,” Cheryl says sharply, “Is there something you’d like to _share_ with Veronica?”

“Do you know each other?” Veronica snaps.

“Yeah,” Archie says. His voice seems almost shaky, but he steps to Cheryl’s side with barely more than a moment of hesitation. “V, uh, this is Cheryl. We went to boarding school together, and now…she’s my girlfriend.”

Veronica can’t help laughing. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I think I’m hallucinating. What did you just say?”

“He _said_ ,” snarls Cheryl, “I’m his girlfriend.” Even from here, Veronica can see the half-moon marks her nails are making on Archie’s wrist, that death grip speaking volumes. She tugs a little, and Archie gives Veronica half a look of sympathy, but then he turns, and the two of them are walking away within seconds, Cheryl pressed to his side, her cheek almost against his shoulder, the picture of a perfect couple until they’re swallowed by an empty hallway.

Veronica wants to throw up. She can seriously feel her stomach twisting, the onslaught of nausea suddenly so overwhelming it’s hard to think. She dry-heaves, and Betty’s face, concerned, is now swimming in her vision. “Veronica?”

“Uhh,” Veronica groans, pressing both palms to her eyes. She feels Betty’s arm wrapping around her waist, which does nothing for the blush that Veronica knows has overtaken her face, and then they’re on the bench again, pressed together, and Veronica is so overwhelmed that she goes entirely slack and just lets herself lean against Betty’s side. There’s a moment of tension. Betty inhales - Veronica can feel it, Betty’s chest moving against her cheek - and she could move right here, shift away or even shove Veronica off of her, which would be understandable, but she doesn’t. She just sighs out that deep breath and leaves her hand resting on Veronica’s waist.

“Listen,” Betty says after a long minute. Her voice is calm and almost delicate as it floats above Veronica’s head, barely more than a murmur. “I know she’s being bitchy, but why does it matter so much? I’m sure you can handle it.”

“No, that’s - “ Veronica grinds her teeth. “I don’t care if she doesn’t like me. I care that she’s dating Archie.”

It’s incredibly subtle, but she’s almost sure that Betty tenses at that, or at least shifts. “Okay.”

“I promise I’m not crazy.” Is she, though? Is this whole idea not absolutely, crazy stupid? Veronica inhales, holds the breath, and then lets it out as slowly as she can. She’s about to explain, all of it, but the closer she gets to opening her mouth the more she can feel how ridiculous it is, and all at once the feeling overwhelms her that being honest is a horrible idea. Her jaw snaps shut. Ignoring the uncomfortable itch that is spreading over her skin, Veronica sits up, gently displaces Betty’s hand from her waist, and says cheerfully, “Nevermind. Is there a salon around here?”

Betty raises an eyebrow. Veronica is aware that she’s being scrutinized - she can see it in Betty’s eyes, that barely muted curiosity, something almost like concern - but stares back, hoping Betty will take her confidence as a sign to lay off. Eventually she does, though it’s reluctant at best. “Nail or hair?”

“Both. Either.” 

“Yeah, okay. Here.” Betty turns to face her, folding one leg onto the bench, and scribbles something on her clipboard. Then she rips off the piece of paper she’s written on and hands it to Veronica. “My friend Kevin works there, he’s great. With hair.”

“You’re a gem,” Veronica says with genuine gratefulness. “Thank you. Are you going to be in class Thursday?”

“Pretty sure,” Betty says.

Veronica grins, crumples the piece of paper into her purse, and slides off the bench to standing. “I’ll see you.”

“Yeah,” Betty says, suppressing a smile. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sapphicriley.tumblr.com 
> 
> comments and kudos and asks always appreciated <3


	3. ireland

The Hair Affair is a hole in the wall if Veronica’s ever seen one, nothing like her last salon. It’s set between a Walmart and a Starbucks in the strip mall closest to her apartment, painted a startling bright blue, and as Veronica wriggles through the door she’s hit by the harsh scent of acetone, the metallic clinking of scissors and nail clippers. The sound and noise overwhelms her for a moment before she relaxes into it. There’s only one man she can see in the whole store - short dark hair, gangly, finishing up a dye job on someone - so she steps forward and asks carefully, “Kevin?”

The man turns. The way he looks her up and down is not unsubtle, but it’s also not creepy in the way that men often look at Veronica. He squints a little, then says, “Do I know you?”

It’s not rude, per se, but it does catch her off-guard -“I’m Veronica,” she answers evenly. “Betty sent me?”

“Oh my God!” Kevin’s eyes go wide. “Duh. Yeah, I’m almost done here. Do you wanna just take a seat - ?”

“Sure.” Brushing off the strange way he’s reacted to her so far, Veronica slides into the nearest chair. The building hums with the deep rush of air conditioning, the small, soft sounds of people getting their nails and hair done, a background noise so familiar she settles into it almost immediately. Veronica picks up a magazine from the table next to her and sinks deep into her seat, relaxed for the first time since she’s arrived in Massachusetts. Salons are a customary place of peace for her, if not this one in particular. 

Some time later, after Kevin’s client has paid and he’s done tidying up his workspace, he turns to her and asks, “So, what are you here for?”

Veronica would almost say he sounds suspicious. It’s something about the purposefully light inflection of his voice, or the way he tilts his head at her, eyebrows furrowed just slightly. His eyes are a pale green in the overhead lights, rife with the same yellow undercurrent as Betty’s. Vaguely, Veronica wonders if they’re related, then discounts it. My friend. No one she knows is friends with their sibling.

“I need something different,” she says, ignoring the derision in his voice. “Something really different. Like…make me a redhead.”

“Sweetie,” Kevin chokes. He takes the seat across from her, so slowly that his movements belie an incredible disbelief, his eyes huge and genuinely shocked. “You’re not serious. Are you serious? Why? You’re a genetic lotto win. Why would you change that?”

“You don’t really need to know.”

“Sure I do.” Kevin leans back in his chair. “Spill.”

For a moment Veronica pauses. Is it dumb for her to trust him? Probably. But who else is she going to talk to? Maybe he’ll even be able to help her, in some way beyond the sympathetic pouts she’s been getting. It’s worth a try. If Betty likes him, he can’t be all bad. 

“Okay,” Veronica starts with a huge exhale. “So I got into Harvard.”

“That’s a good school!”

“I know, right? Okay, anyway. I worked so hard to get into law school. I blew off Greek Week to study for the LSATs. I even arranged a whole cheerleading routine to show off for the admissions directors.” Veronica sighs. “All to get my boyfriend Archie back. But now he’s - he’s - he’s - “

“He’s what?”

“He’s dating an evil redheaded witch,” Veronica explodes.

“Oh, honey,” Kevin says, his voice emphatic with support. He reaches out to fluff one of her curls absent-mindedly. For someone like Veronica, who was raised on unthinking touches and hugs given more often than not, the simple brush of his fingers over her hair is comforting beyond words - she’d never say that she enjoys this coming from a complete stranger, but she does, immensely. The heat of tears even starts to build behind her eyes.

“I just - I just wish I had never gone to Harvard,” Veronica admits. She twists one of her rings around her finger uncomfortably, glances down the metal as it shifts in the light. “After I went to all that trouble, and my plans got foiled. What am I supposed to do?”

“You’re asking the absolute wrong person,” Kevin snorts, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, I was with my guy since high school, and then one day, he goes - I met someone else, move out. Took my dog.”

“That’s horrible.”

Kevin shrugs. “Followed his dick to greener pastures. Whatever. What’s this girl have that you don’t, three boobs?”

Veronica chokes on a laugh. “No. She’s just…she’s…serious.”

“Seriously, does she have three boobs?”

“Come on,” Veronica admonishes. “No. She’s just - a stuck up, snobby, beautiful rich kid who he doesn’t think of as goofy.”

“His loss,” Kevin says brusquely. Veronica can’t help smiling at that. The way it comes out is so unplanned, so confident, that it’s easy to tell he really does think that, and it makes her feel a hundred times better. “Listen, you know I’m not going to make you a redhead. Do you want a trim?”

“Sure. Ugh, I’m sorry. I know I’m a drag. It’s been… a long week.”

Kevin just shakes his head and gestures to the salon chair. Obediently, Veronica takes her seat and sinks happily into the leather; to be here is beautiful and unexpectedly gratifying, just her and Kevin in their well-decorated corner of the studio, her fingers flexing unconsciously as the brush is run through her hair, as the soft sound of scissors clipping comes from behind her, and her eyes drift almost closed as the weight of newfound exhaustion settles onto them.

As the lights dim in her brain, she thinks about Betty.

It’s unexpected. It’s almost uncomfortable. For a few long minutes she pushes it away, paranoid that Kevin can somehow see into her head, will tell Betty as soon as he finds out. But eventually she becomes too tired to be anxious, and her thoughts drift back away in that new direction. 

_I’m sure you can handle it. Yeah - on it._ The hands in her hair are Betty’s now, the lightest graze of fingers on the back of Veronica’s neck sending visceral chills up and down her spine. _That’s killer._ The replaying of Betty’s voice in her head is met with another accompanying shudder. _Well, I’m still sorry._ Anise and vanilla waft inside her brain again, accompanied by the subtle, curling shift of waves of blonde hair. _Do you wanna say something about yourself?_ Anything that would make Betty pay more attention to her. _There are some good eggs_ \- her included. Veronica bites down hard on her lip.

“Are you okay?” comes Kevin’s voice from above her head. “You look like you’re about to have a stroke and a half.”

“Did Betty tell you I was coming?”

In the mirror, Kevin’s reflection pauses, as if uncertain of what the right answer is. “Yes,” he says after a significant pause. The scissors snip closed more slowly than usual. “I mean, she mentioned it.”

“What did she say?”

Kevin smiles - subtle, like he’s trying to repress it - but there, and genuinely humored. “Just that she was sending someone in for me.”

Veronica looks down at her hands and attempts to conceal her disappointment. Kevin doesn’t ask any more questions, though it’s pretty obvious he wants to, and in her head Veronica thanks him for that, deeply uncomfortable with how much she’s starting to care about Betty’s opinion of her. The air around them is heavy with expectation, yet neither one wants to be the first to speak. 

She’s saved, but only sort of, by the sound of the salon door opening. “Hi,” Kevin calls to whoever’s just walked in. “Welcome to the Hair Affair, what can we do for you?”

“Oh, I’m here for a blowout,” wafts that chirpy, serpentine voice, and Veronica’s hands clench around the arms of her chair as she forces herself not to turn, hating the way that Cheryl’s presence has already started to grate against every nerve in her body, has already made her mouth go hot with rage.

“Sure, take a seat,” says Kevin, “I’m just finishing up - “

“Veronica?!” Cheryl’s laugh echoes through the room, so loud, so bright, it makes Veronica want to exit her own body. Her flame-red hair shows up in the mirror first, followed by that witchy smirk and long carmine nails, settled confidently on the span of her hips. She glowers with bone-white teeth at Veronica’s reflection, and dimples split open both of her cheeks. “I didn’t know you went here!”

“First visit,” Veronica grits. 

“Oh, makes sense. Hey, I’m sorry about today.” The smile falls off Cheryl’s face, but something predatory is still hiding behind that, in the purposefully calm lines of her face, the calculated pursing of those blood-red lips as she meets Veronica’s eyes in the mirror - something that warns Veronica not to trust her. Her eyes are deep and dark with careful watching. “I needed to make a good impression on Clayton. It was totally nothing personal. You get it.”

Veronica doesn’t bother answering. Cheryl’s face drops to stone before she carefully reconstructs it, with a listless smile crossing her lips. “Listen, I’m having a party next weekend. Pre-Halloween kind of bash. Do you like costume parties?”

Kevin is still standing by her side, and he flicks her shoulder sharply, startling Veronica into a premature answer; even Cheryl can’t dampen her obsession with costume parties. Grudgingly, she admits, “Yes.” 

“You should totally come. I’ll give you the address next time we’re in class.” 

“Sure,” Veronica agrees. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be there. Thank you, Cheryl.”

Cheryl beams before she turns away, that bright red hair flashing in a whirlwind, leaving the smell of something sharp and floral behind her, and Veronica sinks deep into her chair with a discontent sigh. 

“Don’t mope,” Kevin hisses in her ear, leaning down. “Listen, maybe that you boy you like will be there-!”

Veronica hadn’t even had time to give it thought, but he’s not wrong - there’s a huge chance Archie will be there, and a costume party is the perfect chance for Veronica to exhibit all her assets. She meets Kevin’s gaze and raises her eyebrows. “Huh.” 

Kevin beams back at her. She debates asking him if there’s any chance of Betty showing up, then, looking at the yellow in his eyes, and feeling the way her stomach is still moving, doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY ITS BEEN A MINUTE n this is mostly plot development but i'm back babeYYYyy
> 
> sapphicriley.tumblr.com 
> 
> comments and kudos and asks always appreciated <3


	4. serious

The next time Veronica crosses paths with Betty is on her way to class on Thursday, head down against the harsh breeze that’s attempting to buffet her directly backward. Already summer is turning to fall, and the leaves have started to go from green to yellow to red; it’s significantly colder than it was last week, and Veronica’s swaddled in a jacket that makes her look like a marshmallow, face bitten red by the cold, and furious that she’s so affected by the chill. Day-old rainwater still freckles the sidewalks. She’s looking down at her phone, tapping out a desperate message to Josie about her second-day-of-class anxiety, when Betty’s voice sounds out with that alien calmness, “Don’t trip.”

Veronica’s head jerks up, and embarrassment instantly heats her cheeks. Betty is leaning against the doorway to their classroom, head tilted, both eyebrows raised in amusement as she watches Veronica sputter for a comeback. The only reason Veronica doesn’t have one yet is that Betty is wearing a skirt today, and the sight of it overwhelms Veronica so completely that she finds herself grasping at straws for even the barest beginning of an adequate response. Probably not even containing her gape, Veronica comes to a faltering stop, and, with a nervous smile, manages, “I’ll try not to.”

“Kevin told me you stopped by.” Betty is still watching her with gentle intent, those blue eyes clear and stubbornly unmoving. It’s overwhelming how beautiful she is up close, and how that beauty manifests itself in the tiniest of ways - her eyelashes, the freckle on her jaw, the perfume that follows her like a cloud. Veronica has almost given up trying to be casual. None of her usual tactics have worked, and it’s not like they can avoid each other, so what is Veronica supposed to do but give into whatever is happening?

Even it’s freaking debilitating.

“Uh huh,” Veronica says finally, brushing a strand of hair from her face. It’s self-conscious and unconfident and totally, completely unlike her, and the fact that Betty is watching makes it ten times worse, so that she can feel the blood rushing in and out of her cheeks. She inhales deeply, tries to stifle the embarrassment, and, of course, can’t.

“Are you nervous?”

“What would I be nervous about?”

Betty’s eyebrows furrow. “Clayton? I don’t - I wasn’t trying to…“ She shifts, almost recoiling in confusion. “Never mind.” She’s biting her lip again. Her voice is purposefully light, so much so that the strain behind it becomes obvious, and so does the amount of effort she’s putting into sounding casual.

 _Oh, shit._ Veronica immediately lapses into guilt. “No, it’s okay, I was just - “

Something slams into Veronica at an angle, hitting the right side of her back, and she’s thrown ungainly forward almost straight into Betty, who, without thinking, grabs her at the elbow so she won’t fall over. Heat blazes a path all the way into Veronica’s stomach. She whips around, expecting to find Cheryl brushing past her, but it’s Archie who’s already halfway in the classroom, apparently unaware that she’s even there - and that’s ten, no, a hundred times worse. Veronica’s hands flex unconsciously, and she stares at the back of his head as he disappears, something horrible bubbling in the pit of her stomach. 

Betty exhales, and they’re pressed so close together Veronica can feel it ghosting over her forehead.

“I’m gonna go,” someone says, and it takes Veronica a moment to realize it was her. The world stutters and buzzes in hard-lined shadow. She’s ashamed of how easily Betty throws her off-balance, how badly she wants to get away just because this is uncomfortable, the warmth that’s moving between them, the buzz deep in her bones, the urge that she has to just - to - well, she can’t even put the right words to it. So she doesn’t. She tugs her hand away from Betty’s with a hard smile and slips into Hauser.

It’s impossible to focus. No matter how much she looks straight ahead or attempts to block out the whispers around her. Clayton talks and talks, and her classmates answer questions, and Veronica pores over her books without absorbing any of it, because she can see Archie and Cheryl pressed up against each other just across the room, and Betty is still sitting cross-legged on her left, obnoxiously and unconsciously beautiful, and it’s not like Veronica gets any of this, anyway: God-damn Archie, throwing her into these stupid situations, where she doesn’t have a clue about anything. Her head throbs with frustration and a compound headache. The legal system is full of contradictions and complicated definitions, and Veronica is floundering to understand even the simplest parts of it.

The words go in one ear and out the other until Clayton stops in the front of the room and says loudly, “I have an announcement.” So simple, so terrifying, so obnoxiously confident. The class stills within an instant. Veronica shifts forward in her seat, sits up so straight her back aches. “I’m sure you are all aware that you will be competing against each other for the top grade in this class. However, you will also be competing for the opportunity to participate in a real-life case. I run a billion dollar law firm, and I hire four new interns every year - so from this class I’m going to pick four young sharks whom I respect, and those four will have a guaranteed career. Do you follow me?”

Stunned silence falls over the room. _Guaranteed career?_ A whisper ripples through the class, one of surprise and immediate competition. Veronica stiffens in her chair. That’s a big offer right there - that’s something to go after, tooth and nail. And of course Veronica is not the only one that knows this. Across the room, Cheryl’s eyes sharpen like she's a human razor blade. 

“I want to see blood in the water,” Clayton finishes. He bares his teeth at them in what’s probably supposed to be a smile but looks more like a snarl. “Class dismissed.”

He takes a seat at his desk, and the spell over the classroom breaks. Cheryl turns to Archie and starts to talk in an excited whisper; Ethel makes eye contact with Veronica from across the room and flashes her a nervous beam; Reggie and a pack of his friends start whooping from their corner of the room, uncharacteristically excited. Veronica doesn’t know what she should be feeling. Anxiety? Opportunity? Mostly she’s overwhelmed by the idea that she’s not good enough to do this. Veronica Lodge may be smart, and she may be pretty, and she may be rich, but she’s not a law student in any capacity, and she’s unprepared at best, fully cognizant of the fact that just wanting - even though she does really, really want it - is not enough. She’s not good enough to be here. She was good at living in New York, pursuing her fashion degree, with Josie and the rest of her friends doing something she loves, instead of losing her mind in freezing Missouri.

Cheryl and Archie have already filtered out the door. Betty is intently repacking her bag, so focused she doesn’t even spare a sideways look; Clayton has disappeared from his desk, and the chairs are still reverberating with the echoes of people having just left. There’s no one here to make her feel better, to boost her confidence even a little. They’re superior. They know what they want. They know what they’re doing. And Veronica can’t even imagine how that would feel.

Betty blows out the door, and with her goes Veronica’s last chance of stealing a pick-me-up. There’s really no reason for to think Betty would help her, she realizes, but the idea was still there - something stuck in the back of her head - and now she feels its absence keenly, a sharp pain in the deepest part of her chest. With that she gives up on having a good day, picks up her bag, folds in her chair and slips out the door. It’s still windy outside, and clouds loom overhead with the promise of rain. Josie’s texted her back - _you’re going to do fine!_ \- and despite all of Veronica’s bitching and griping, she smiles at the notification for a moment, ignoring the darkness of the world outside in favor of feeling good about the fact that someone still believes in her. 

*

The address Cheryl’s given her leads to a mansion just off-campus. The building looms high overhead and is studded with all the typical rich-family furnishings - huge arced windows, pillars wrapped with green ivy - but it’s been overrun by college students, and now it leaks music from open doors, streamers fluttering off the gates, the gravel driveway marred by many overlapping footsteps. It’s already pure dark around her, the black disturbed only by streetlights and the faint winking of stars. Veronica anxiously smooths down her costume. Kevin dug it out of the depths of some closet in the Hair Affair and forced her to wear it: a light pink bunny playsuit complete with a pair of matching ears, something reminds Veronica of a Playboy bunny. She’s kind of obsessed with it, honestly. At least there’s no chance of Cheryl looking as good.

With that, she puts both hands on the oak door and pushes in.

It takes only half a step into the house to realize something is wrong. People who looked back at the door opening are now staring at her with eyes so huge they glitter whitely in the dim light; a communal laugh is spreading around the room, first sparse, then gathering volume. She feels an uncomfortable amount of eyes looking her up and down - the bare span of her legs, the fluff that lines the top of her bodysuit. The bodysuit that is, without a doubt, the only costume in this room. It’s almost like she can hear the music grinding to a stop.

Cheryl appears from the darkness, wine glass in hand. In a red cocktail dress and sensible heels. 

_Oh, you’re horrible._

“Nice outfit,” the redhead offers, the words biting with a hundred different kinds of teeth.

“Thanks,” Veronica shoots back. “I see you came as last year’s sample sale.”

Cheryl’s expression drops into complete vacancy. Her eyes are huge, dark spots in her face, lacking anything Veronica would classify as empathy. Her jaw pulses with tension; hair floats around her face in a sub-spacial vortex. For a moment Veronica really thinks Cheryl is going to hit her, or, even worse and more like her, is somehow going to know her biggest fears, going to hang them out right here like clothes on a drying line, because everything about her screams _witchy_ and _all-knowing,_ and just looking at her expression sends a chill up Veronica’s arms.

“Veronica!” Archie bursts into view, just in time, if Veronica’s giving him the benefit of the doubt. He seems to almost flinch at the sight of her, but continues close enough to grab her at the wrist, to pull her gently away from Cheryl, who looks like she’s about to spontaneously combust, and towards the snack table. He’s wearing the same cologne he always does, a patterned shirt tucked into black pants. He looks her up and down and raises his eyebrows, expression unreadable, but somehow still embarrassing to look at. “Wow, you look like a walking felony. Nice ears.”

“Thanks,” Veronica says back. “Bite me.”

They reach the table, and Archie grabs for a bottle of water. “Drink?” Grudgingly, Veronica nods, tugs the drink out of his hand and cracks it open in her sweating hands. Taking a swig does lessen her anger a little. For all his shittiness, he still knows her pretty well. 

“Question,” Archie interrupts after a long pause. “Why didn’t you ever wear this while we were dating?”

Veronica glares. “Well, I guess you never asked.”

His expression stills for a long moment; those brown eyes glitter under the lights but say nothing, not really, except that he’s thinking hard. That doesn’t happen often, so Veronica doesn’t interrupt. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

It’s kind of pathetic, but of course Veronica answers, with a subtle tilt of her head, “I know what you mean. I can’t imagine doing all this and Clayton’s internship next year.”

Archie squints at her like he can’t believe she’s serious. “Veronica…”

“What?”

“You’ll never get the grades to qualify for one of those spots - ” Veronica flinches, but Archie presses on, a genuine humor coloring his voice, as if he doesn’t notice she’s squirming under the insult. “You can barely keep up in class, how are you going to impress Clayton?”

“Wait,” Veronica interrupts. Anger pools in her throat, almost chokes her up. “Am I sniffing glue, or did we get into the same school?”

“Yeah. About that.” Archie looks up at her, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Betty’s face immediately flashes through Veronica’s head. Oh, no. “Back at NYU I never would have guessed. Sometimes I miss the old days. Those parties senior year, I thought we ruled the world.”

“You’d funnel all that beer, and I’d hold your head when you hurled,” agrees Veronica.

“I wish it could be that way again. Have dreams about it sometimes.”

Veronica pauses. Gauges her options. Slowly, carefully, says, “Dreams don’t just disappear.”

“What?”

“We could keep on dreaming them here. I mean, like senior year, but funner! I know you’ve got your future all planned…”

“Yeah, I do.”

“What if I’m standing there too?”

“I don’t follow.”

“I’m here cause I’m serious,” Veronica presses, and she opens her mouth again to spout the whole spiel, excitement flitting through her body like something electric, the words all ready in her head, proving she’s worthy enough, but Archie snorts.

“Yeah, right,” he says, and glances her up and down. “You look real serious.”

Shame roars through Veronica’s whole body - she feels heat flushing everything from her cheeks to her fingertips, burning deep into her hairline, her teeth buzzing. She blinks furiously, trying to clear the beginnings of tears from her eyes. It’s embarrassing that she still cares what he thinks. It’s horrific that she had the guts to think this would work out. Hands trembling, she picks anxiously at the hem of her costume, struggling for a response that could belie even a little of what she’s feeling, but her mouth opens and closes restlessly without even a sound escaping as she attempts to clear the blackness from her head. Heat blasts across Veronica’s skin; she finally snaps her jaw shut, with effort so Herculean her skull aches.

Like a wraith Cheryl slinks into view at Archie’s shoulder, a monster split into two heads by Veronica’s buzzing vision.

“Face it, bunny,” comes that catty voice, cooing, something dulcet that slips from Cheryl’s teeth like syrup. Her gaze is incandescent, uncannily bright - Veronica thinks about her eighth-grade science camp and that thin film of iridescent gunk that makes animal eyes glow in the dark, papery silver-and-rainbow behind the retina, though she’s too emotional to recall the name. Cheryl’s lip curls into a sneer or a smile. “One of these things is not like the other. One day, we’re going to nominate Supreme Court justices, and you’ll tan. Run home, Veronica. And change out of your skank costume.”

 _SKANK!_ A collective ooh murmurs around the room, a soft, dark, sound that makes Veronica’s stomach clench against her hips. Anger pounds in her temples. She’s exploding in forty different corners of her body. _Skank?_ Cheryl’s still grinning at her across the refreshments table, hand fisted around the stem of a wine glass; she flashes Veronica a look up and down, then starts to turn away, grabbing Archie by the elbow. Veronica, tearing up again, looks down at the fluffy hem of her costume, and then, blessedly, realization blooms inside her head.

“Skank?” Veronica asks. “Is that what you see? How unfortunate.” She whirls around, scans the crowd, and snatches the glasses off an unsuspecting someone in the crowd behind her that she smashes onto her own nose before turning back. Cheryl’s paused, is looking at her like she’s grown a bunch of tentacles, but Veronica raises her voice and continues. “Because I’m Gloria Steinem, undercover as a Playboy Bunny circa 1963, reporting for her feminist manifesto. Are you actually calling Gloria Steinem a skank?”

Someone roars from the back of the crowd: “WHO’S CALLING GLORIA STEINEM A SKANK?”

An enraged Ethel bolts toward the front of the room, and Cheryl, to her credit, lets out only the most muted squeak as she takes a surprised step back. “Get out, Veronica,” she snarls, skittering toward the nearest door. Her heels scrape over the linoleum with an alien screech. “And give up while you’re at it. You’ll never get that internship. No matter how much you keep going… and going… and going.”

Veronica clenches her fists so hard her knuckles crack and watches Cheryl disappear. It’s impossible to think, to move, to talk. Her teeth are like lead inside her mouth. Barely conscious, she whips the glasses off her face and hands them back to some stranger behind her, and then, stomach lurching, turns toward the front door, where outside it’s onyx-black and heavy with wind, trees whispering in their sinister pitch. Cars roar by on the open road, flashing headlights at a hundred different velocities. Veronica hiccups on the ghost of something alcoholic. Goosebumps flashing over her skin, she charges out the door, listening intently to the _click, click, click_ of her heels on the concrete, something that says, as everything else today has, _you’ve made a mistake._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so i want you to know this summer i saw a legally blonde production where my ex's best friend was warner but he couldn't sing and also had his hands in his pockets The Entire Time so every time I think about legally blonde that's what comes up and I cackle. it was very awkward
> 
> sapphicriley.tumblr.com
> 
> comments and kudos and asks always appreciated <3

**Author's Note:**

> sapphicriley.tumblr.com 
> 
> comments and kudos and asks always appreciated <3


End file.
